


above me

by jonphaedrus



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AFAB Regis, Coming Untouched, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, Female Ejaculation, Figging, Fingerfucking, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:02:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9081574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonphaedrus/pseuds/jonphaedrus
Summary: Clarus’ eyes were glazed and dark with arousal, and the lower half of his face was slick and shiny from where his mouth had been pressed into Regis’ wet cunt. He made a wet noise somewhere deep in his chest as Regis swiped a thumb over his swollen, wet lower lip, and looked up at the king, dazed and wanting. Regis smiled down at him, not-unkindly. “I hardly even broke a sweat,” Regis said. “I think you aren’t really trying.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> youll take regis and clarus being noct and iris' bio parents from my cold dead hands fam

“That will be all,” Regis didn’t look up from where he was sorting papers to the side of his desk as the messenger bowed and showed herself out. When the door shut a pall seemed to lift off of the room, and he sagged back into his chair, head rolling back on his neck as he moaned, fingers digging into the underside of Clarus’ skull as he grabbed the older man by the back of the neck. “I thought she would never leave,” he hissed, a note of relief strong in his voice, as he looked down at the other man.

Clarus’ eyes were glazed and dark with arousal, and the lower half of his face was slick and shiny from where his mouth had been pressed into Regis’ wet cunt. He made a wet noise somewhere deep in his chest as Regis swiped a thumb over his swollen, wet lower lip, and looked up at the king, dazed and wanting. Regis smiled down at him, not-unkindly. “I hardly even broke a sweat,” Regis said. “I think you aren’t really trying.”

“I was a little distracted,” Clarus gasped back. As he said it, he shifted from side to side, and Regis took pity on the man, pressed the sole of his boot over Clarus’ cock in his slacks just to watch the way his face shattered in, the duck of his head and the catch of his breath. “Regis—”

“If you want it out, you have a job to finish.” Clarus groaned and settled back to his heels as Regis returned to work, spreading his thighs to allow the other man back between them. Clarus’ breath was hot over his folds, and when Clarus peeled his inner lips open far enough to bare the sensitive skin of his entrance and scraped the stubble on his chin there, Regis sighed in pleasure, fingers stroking just behind Clarus’ ear through the soft fuzz of his buzzed hair. Clarus got two fingers slid into him, crooking up and curving forward, and between the pressure on his g-spot and the tongue licking up the underside of his clit, it was all the King could do to spread his thighs open and roll his head back to rest on the top of his chair.

Clarus found a good pace with his fingers, not too fast and up to the bottom knuckle, tilted up on every out-stroke. He dug the curve of his front teeth into the hood of Regis’ clit, and it made him tense up, his heel digging into the small of Clarus’ back. When the other man found a pace licking just up the underside of his clit, sucking on every other in-breath, Regis just relaxed down into it, breathy moans punching out of his throat every once in a while as he returned to work, his pen held loosely in his hand as he forced his hazy, too-close-to-orgasm mind to focus and read and re-read sentences three times before he understood them.

His first orgasm came slow—it had been on the edge of his tongue before the messenger had come bursting in, a low burn deep in his belly, in the pulse of his heartbeat. But while she had been standing there, Clarus had switched to just tongue-fucking him, licking up slick, nose on the off-chance bumping Regis’ clit, and it had slowed it back down from a boil to a simmer. Now, though, it was a low-banked fire again, and when Regis could feel his thighs clenching, his hips tightening up, he bit his lower lip and tried to pull Clarus closer only for—

Clarus stayed put. He had pinned Regis to his chair with his broad soldier’s hands, and Regis had his mouth half-open to snarl when Clarus bit down just-shy of too hard on his clit. His yelp of surprise was half-disgruntled, because Clarus was holding him down and just _breathing_ on him, and Regis muffled a frustrated laugh. “I keep thinking you _want_ that in there,” he said, as Clarus breathed on him again, waiting as his thighs stopped tensing, jerking against his hands, and his breathing evened back down. Clarus made a noncomittal noise in return, and bit at his clit again.

“I could get used to it.” Regis couldn’t personally see the appeal of having a finger of ginger shoved up his ass, but he wasn’t Clarus. Clarus seemed perfectly happy, if uncomfortable, his cock hot and hard and heavy and bumping against the sole of Regis’ shoe.

“Clarus,” he began, voice tight, but the other man was back to going down on him, fingers shifting and curling up into him, tongue slipping under the hood of his clit. Stubble scraped over his folds again, dragging over his labia, and it made Regis moan, hitching forward on his chair. “Clarus—” he wasn’t going to beg, wasn’t, but it was so _hard_ with Clarus dragging teeth over his clit, tongue darting to press into him alongside two, three fingers. Clarus’ fingers were twice as wide as Regis’ own, and three fingers inside him was just—almost too much, almost too much. It was hard not to beg when he’d hit the edge twice, and pulled back twice. It was all too easy to feel that bloom in his chest, the arch in his hips, and to drag Clarus closer only for—

There was a knock on the door, and Regis for a long moment honestly considered telling whoever it was that they could go jump out a window for about all he cared. He tried to push Clarus away, the older man rocking back on his heels again, and scrubbed his hands over his face, breathed. “Come in!” He called after a moment, when he felt passably human again, and the door opened to reveal a Crownsguard messenger.

“Marshal Leonis asked this to be sent to you, Sire.” Regis sat forward, stretched his hand out for the missive the man was holding.

“Give it here.” As he leaned forward, his hips shifted, and he bit the inside of his lower lip abruptly to bleeding as Clarus took that opportunity to fuck his tongue into him in one sure, slick stroke.

Regis breathed. Took the missive. “Thank you,” he managed, pulling it over and unfolding the paper. It was the Marshal’s commentary on some training exercises that they had planned for the Nifelheim offensive, entirely in code, and Regis found his eyes practically crossing as he tried to force himself to decode it, a nigh-impossible task given that Clarus was currently fucking him with four too-slick fingers, tip of his tongue circling Regis’ clit. And the Crownsguard was still waiting, patiently at parade rest, as Regis dug his nails into the missive and debated kicking Clarus.

He almost came three times: decoding the message, while composing the response, and while writing it down. Each time, Clarus would let up just long enough for him to stop shifting his hips forward to chase the edge of it, to just breathe on him, scraping the stubble on his cheeks and chin over Regis’ blood-hot clit and folds, and then would come back moments later.

His handwriting was almost illegible, it was shaking so hard, and Regis tried not to think _too_ hard about the way Cor would be able to guess what had been going on as he handed the paper back over. He cleared his throat. “Dismissed. Thank you, Sergeant.” The Crownsguard bowed out, and Regis held his breath until the door closed, and then—Clarus stopped teasing him, four fingers pushing him too-wide slipping back into him, fucked in up to the knuckle, and Regis grabbed at the man’s head, shoving his own hand into his mouth to muffle the broken, wet shout that was building up low in his throat as Clarus kept going, teeth scraping over his brutally sensitive clit, sucking him into his mouth, sloppy and too-wet, and Regis felt his body tensing, curling up into Clarus’ mouth, grabbing at his short hair, thighs crushing his head.

And then Clarus pulled back.

If Regis had been a lesser man, he would have screamed.

Clarus was shifting uncomfortably side to side, his cheeks flaming with heat, his eyes wide and wet. He kept breathing desperately fast, and Regis growled, furious and so on-edge he was sick with it. “If you take that out—”

“Regis—” Clarus sounded _wrecked_ , his deep voice wet and ragged. “Please—”

“No,” he snarled, a royal order, and Clarus subsided, as Regis dragged him back forward, jaw set. Four fingers back in him, mouth on his clit, teeth scraping the edge, tongue inside him and just enough, just enough. “If you stop,” Regis snarled—and came. He practically seized up off of the chair as he did, toes curling into the soles of his shoes, biting on his hand to muffle the noise of his shout.

It was like an electrical short, all buildup and then burst. It started in his head, with the texture of cotton. His vision blacked out, and he couldn’t remember how to breathe. Just—had to hang on. Had to hang on, and roll up into Clarus’ mouth, as the first wave hit him, his clit jerking up against the rough rim of Clarus’ teeth, the four fingers inside him curling up until they were grinding too-hard into his g-spot, not stopping, still fucking him. Regis’ knee bumped the underside of the desk as he came for a second time, his body livewire-tight as he arched up off of the chair, shout bottled up in his throat, moaning ragged and wanting as Clarus pinned him flat with his other hand, sucked on his clit until Regis was squirting into his mouth, yelping high in his throat, helplessly overstimulated and _wanting_.

Somewhere in his third orgasm, shaking and sweating, the oversensitivity hit him, and he tried to slap Clarus away, tried to warn him, but Clarus only changed his tactic, lapping soft at his folds, drinking Regis in, fingers shifting to fuck him steady and deep as a piston. “I can’t,” Regis tried to moan, but it came out garbled and inarticulate, and Clarus didn’t stop.

Just—held him down, trapped his knees up against the top of the desk, and sucked on his clit until Regis was crying, incoherent and overwhelmed, trembling and cold with sweat. His throat was burning and the bottom of his labia felt scraped raw from Clarus’ stubble, but he kept going, still licking him clean after he’d squirted, after all he’d leaked, still pushing him on.

“Come on,” Clarus murmured, vibrations warm against the heart of him, spreading his fingers as he fucked Regis until Regis felt he might _light on fire_ , clenching down tight but not-tight-enough as Clarus twisted those four fingers inside him to the knuckle, fucked deeper into him, tongue sliding in with them as well. His fourth orgasm was like dying, and he couldn’t see could barely _breathe_ , vision white and his hips so tight from muscle spasms they hurt, would ache tomorrow. “You can do it, love,” Clarus continued, still fucking him, still pushing up and pulling out, his fingers cruel and— “You can do five times, come on, Regis, I love you,” He bit down on Regis’ clit hard enough that it _hurt_ , sucking it into his mouth, lips tight around his mons, tongue setting a brutal pace licking over and over, too-fast and too-hard and,

Regis was distantly aware that he was definitely screaming, in the same way that you are distantly aware that those are your feet and,

And Clarus slid his thumb in alongside the first four fingers, widening Regis up until his thighs _burned_ , his cunt sopping wet and shredded open and he needed and,

“Clarus, Clarus—” he was begging, shaking into a sixth orgasm, busted open and ruined and,

Clarus slid his hand in to the wrist, and Regis came so hard he almost passed out, too much and too much and all at once, clutching at Clarus’ neck, thighs almost suffocating him. Regis came so hard he didn’t remember to breathe, came so hard he didn’t know where his body was any more let alone his mind. Came so hard he heard Clarus sob, broken, suffocated and helplessly hard and still licking his clit. Came so hard he was oversensitive and ruined and fucked-raw and—

“Stop,” he begged, ragged. He’d been shouting. Everyone, no doubt, had heard. “Stop, Clarus, stop—” too much, far too much, but Clarus still eased him down out of it with his hand back out to just the knuckle, riding out the aftershocks with fingers against his g-spot and making him so full he couldn’t breathe, licking him clean and between his folds, until finally he all-too-gently pulled back and out, Regis’ knees sliding boneless down off of his shoulders as he stared, blindly at the ceiling, unable to breathe or think, let alone _move_. His mind was as blank as fresh-fallen snow, and he just worked on being able to blink as the rush of it left him inch by slow inch, left him scalded and trembling and with tears burned onto his cheeks.

“New record,” Clarus laughed, ragged and tight with his own arousal, against his thigh, the older man’s voice shaky and wrecked and slurred from how long he’d been eating Regis out. He was going to be sore for days. Weeks. At least a week. He both wanted Clarus to put his hand back in _right now_ and also, to not do that. At all. Possibly ever.

Regis closed his eyes, breathed out, and gathered together the shreds of his ruined composure before he looked down at Clarus, who looked up at him with bright eyes and the better part of his face sopping wet. It had even, in one place, gotten into his hair. Clarus grinned, unabashed, and Regis groaned as he scrubbed one shaking hand over his face.

Regis looked further down, and saw that, as Clarus shifted awkwardly from side to side, there was a damp, dark spot on the front of his trousers. If Regis had had the strength in him to laugh, or do anything other than sit there and try to remember how his hands worked, he would have been laughing.

“You came from _eating me out_ ?” The disgusting burst of affection that tendered in him was perhaps a weakness in a ruler, but in a man, it could be allowed. “I didn’t even touch you!” Clarus at least had the decency to look a _little_ ashamed, a flush on his strong cheekbones, smiling through the come all over his face. Regis shook his head, smiling. Ridiculous, stupid man.

“You,” he said at last, ignoring how he sounded like he’d just been shouting for ten minutes, “Are you going to regret that.” He had never said Clarus could come.

Clarus, who had spent the entire afternoon with a plug of ginger as wide as two of his fingers shoved up his ass, grinned happily up at his King.

He didn’t regret it in the fucking slightest, the son of a bitch.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr and twitter @jonphaedrus


End file.
